Jump to content

Kali Nicholotti

Captains Council member
  • Content Count

    3,504
  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    56

Everything posted by Kali Nicholotti

  1. I really do think that the date is dependent on when the sim is submitted to the contest, not when it arrives in your email box (or group list).
  2. Serendipity is actually round 14, as it was submitted after the 22nd.
  3. The word count guideline for this particular competition comes from Ongoing Worlds rather than being our own creation. And to those who are considering entering, you don't have to write 5000 words, that's just the upper limit cap. (But I agree, that's quite a number of words/pages) =)
  4. ((SB118, Sickbay)) Walker: No! You don't understand! ::MacLaren managed to grab him before he fell to the floor. She managed to push him toward the biobed. Wrapping one of his arms around her neck, she struggled to deal with the nearly dead weight of a strong man, she kept repeating the same words:: MacLaren: Commander, can ye hear me? Commander, you are not alone. You are not alone with it. Don't look at it; rest your mind. ::She administered the same sedative that had worked well on Dubeau.:: MacLaren: Sleep now, Commander. :: He understood the order. There seemed to be something he remembered about not wanting to do it, but couldn't attach any significance. His voice came out clear but untainted by emotion. :: Walker: As you wish doctor. :: He moved to the biobed and immediately fell asleep. :: ((Holodeck)) :: As the scene ended, the yellow and black of the holodeck appeared around him, and the man lying on the floor disappeared. For a moment, the dark haired human stared at the yellow and black, counting the squares formed. Sometime later, he stopped as abruptly as he'd started. And with the same lack of connection as he'd had to the man in the holo. Turning, he walked out of the holodeck. It had been awhile since he stepped on the Ronin. The thrum of the engine, the sense of home. His hands, sputtered briefly. As if a flame that was trying to burn back from the embers, but quickly faded. Without a further glance at his surroundings, he continued walking. :: ((Quarters)) ::Moments or hours later, he realized he was in his quarters. He was moving, and therefore had to pack. Picking up a photo, he looked down to see the crew of the Ronin. His face shifted to a smile as flames like St. Elmo's fire began running up and down his arms. He remembered the Counselor on the Ronin whose empathic abilities had likened his emotions to flames. There was something... something he had to.... the flames flickered and died, and woodenly he placed the picture into a box. Methodically he began packing the items he found into boxes. Initially he paused, the flame flickering around him with nearly every item. And each time his face shifted to that of a man desperately fighting against the odds. But...as each item was placed, the flames flickered less frequently, his face remained a stoic mask. Each box was slowly filled, taped and moved to a corner of the room. The pace was economical, neither too urgent nor too relaxed. Finally, each item was stored, the rome was emptied. He moved one last large box near the rest before stepping into it. He filled the box with packing, before closing the flaps and sealing it from the inside. He closed his eyes and exhaled softly before speaking :: Walker: I'm done. ((SB118 Sickbay)) :: The First officer lay on the bio bed, his body almost immobile. His words came out in a whisper...:: Walker: I'm done. :: The alarm split the air, as the bio bed noted the sudden drop in vitals as the man quietly passed :: Lt. Cmdr Ben Walker FO SB118/USS Victory
  5. ((Somewhere...)) ::In the darkness of where ever he was, Eliaan felt at least relieved to be alive. The pain, the overwhelming pain, that he had felt in the corridor was gone but the memory of it stayed with him as if he had been granted a temporary reprieve instead of a full pardon. As the darkness cleared a little, it was clear that he was no longer on the Starbase. It was familiar though, very familiar indeed.:: ::The large room in which he found himself was empty of furniture but filled with memories; he was in the drawing room of his grandparent's home on Betazed. The pleasure and wonder of being in this place quickly melted into a deep sadness as the real reason that he was now seeing this house, empty as it had been after the death of his grandparents, struck him. This wasn't how he had imagined the afterlife but it wasn't something he had allowed himself to think about much.:: ::Death, he knew, walked one pace behind everyone else but walked side by side with a surgeon. On any given day he knew that he could witness, or even be responsible, for the death of a patient. If he were to really think about how close death always was, he knew it would have stopped him being a good surgeon and so he tried his best to ignore it.:: ::And so, he felt utterly unprepared to be standing here with the knowledge that he was either dead or very close to it. What had happened to him? He remembered the pain and being knocked down but he couldn't remember an assailant or why he had been there. He fought hard with his memories, trying to work out what had led him here and then suddenly it clicked.:: ::Ensign Freo.:: ::As he remembered the young Bajoran woman and the darkness that seemed to surround her, the image of a small Bajoran girl appeared in front of him. It wasn't Freo Liandra. It was another Bajoran, one who he had know what felt like a long time ago.:: ::Ollera Kon looked up at him. In a flash, he was shown a quick successions of vignettes of the events that had lead to her death: he was transported back to Starbase 173 where he was convincing her parent's to agree to the procedure; to the arguments with Kaedyn over the correct course of action; to the OR where she died on his table; to his disciplinary hearing on Starfleet Medical. Overwhelmed by the images, he called out for them to stop and he was immediately back in his parent's house looking down at her.:: ::She was dressed in the little surgical gown that she had worn when he had killed her but her eyes carried a wisdom which far exceeded her young age. He carried her with him at all times. She was the embodiment of his regret and sadness, her broken little body on the operating table was the image that stuck in his mind before he fell asleep.:: Ollera: Hello, Eliaan. Deron: ::kneeling down in front of her:: What are you doing here? ::A wide grin spread across her face but she made no response to his question. Instead, she reached up and grabbed his ear with her thumb and forefinger. He was surprised that she was solid rather than just a mental image.:: Ollera: Your pagh is strong, Eliaan. But I don't think it is strong enough... Deron: Kon. Ollera: I'm not her; she's dead. Deron: Am I dead? Ollera: What do you think? Deorn: I think that you didn't answer the question ::She peered up at him, and as she did she was suddenly the three-year old girl who had died in front of him again. With a giggle, she responded in a sing-song voice that sounded like the refrain from a nursery rhyme.:: Ollera: Neither I did Deron: Why do you look like her if you aren't her? ::There was a presence beside him and as he turned to face it, the girl vanished. At his left hand side, his old friend Guy Hunt walked towards him with the wide-beam grin that was his trademark.:: Hunt: Would you rather I looked like this, Doc? ::As he spoke, they were no longer on Betazed. Instead, they stood in a darkened sickbay on the USS Braveheart watching the real Hunt struggle to take his last breaths and die. Often frustrating cavalier about his own safety, Guy had sacrificed himself to save the life of Andrus Jaxx after the Bajoran attacks on the station. They had been through a lot together, not to mention the crush that Eliaan knew Guy had on him, and his death had affected the Betazoid more than he could have imagined.:: Deron: Guy... Hunt: You just don't get it, do you? He's dead. Deron: Then who are you? Why do you take the forms of people who have died? Why these people? Hunt: I am you failure, Eliaan Deron. I speak for the people you were incapable of saving, the reason that your miserable life is worthless. I am your failure. Deron: What are you talking about? ::Hunt continued to smile warmly, despite the vitriolic response that came from him. Under normal circumstances, Eliaan would be able to dismiss this since the thing speaking to him was so different from his friend but he found it hard not to see it as Guy.:: Hunt: You let me die. You acted like my friend and you let me die. You are pathetic. Deron: I couldn't save you, Guy. I would have done anything I could to help you but you were so badly injured. Jilenna: And what about me? You barely tried to help me ::As quickly as he had appeared, Guy was gone. A voice called from behind him and he spun around to see Marine Captain Jilenna Zehn. As his eyes met hers, he was thrown back to the runabout Thames. They were laughing in the [...]pit, the console exploded, he removed the symbiont from her dying body, he placed the symbiont in Kaedyn's abdomen. The images stopped and the blonde woman stood in front of him.:: Deron: The runabout had been damaged, we didn't have the power or the facilities to perform the surgery you needed. We were able to save your symbiont. Jilenna: So you could give it to your boyfriend Deron: It wasn't like that.... Jillenn: You wanted my symbiont so you let me die and now you want my son as well. Deron: I tried to help you. Jilenna: You only wanted to help yourself Deron: That's not true. Aren: You should admit the truth, Eliaan. ::Jilenna melted into the ether and beside him, at his right hand, the image of a tall, handsome Napean man appeared. Dr Dyami Aren, his first love. In his dark eyes, their relationship played out from start to tragic finish. He saw himself, a young medical student arriving on Vilar 2 and meeting the handsome doctor, he saw them working side-by side and the day Dyami awkwardly asked him to dinner, their hike in the hills, the day Dyami developed hemorrhagic fever and Dr Murdoch informing him of his death.:: Deron: ::sobbing:: Please. Not him. Aren: I was your Imzadi but you forgot me as soon as you met your Trill Deron: I didn't. I have never stopped thinking of you, I have never stopped missing you Aren: Stop lying, Eliaan. Deron: I'm not! ::Suddenly, the four of them were standing around him. The room felt dark, their presence threatening.:: Aren: You said you would always love me Hunt: You said you were my friend Jilenna: You said not to worry Kon: You said I'd live ::Tears streamed down the Betazoid's face. They jeered at him, these people he had let down the most, these people he felt the most guilty about, these faces that haunted him.:: Deron: I tried to help you all. I really did. You have to believe me that I tried to help you. I would have done anything to have been able to help any of you ::Ignoring him, they shouted at him in turn.:: Jilenna: You let me die Hunt: You let me die Aren: You let me die Kon: You let me die ::More faces, more voices, appeared and each yelled the same at him. They grew to a large rabble and began to shout over each other at him. The noise grew to a crescendo until it threatened to overwhelm him, he slammed his hands over his ears and screamed over the din.:: ::And as soon as they had appeared, they all disappeared. Where there had been such noise, it was instantly quiet. He found himself again in the dark silence of the drawing room of his grandparent's house looking down at the small frame of Ollera Kon.:: Kon: And now, Eliaan, it is time that you die too... TBC Lieutenant Eliaan Deron, MD Medical Officer SB118 / USS Victory
  6. Is round 11 meant to be locked? We cannot vote on it until it's unlocked. =)
  7. ((Starfleet Academy, San Francisco California, Earth)) The seats in the auditorium style classroom filled slowly as the clock on his desk ticked the seconds away. He watched it, almost preoccupied with the forward movement of the hands as those seconds disappeared into the void of nothingness. The occasional student approached the desk and placed a padd there, stopping for some kind of acknowledgement. Ultimately, they continued on to a seat when they got none. Soon, the seats were nearly full, yet his eyes did not stray from the clock. An uneasy silence settled on the room, where his students anticipated the beginning of the lecture. Each one of them looked down towards the small platform near the front of the room at the somewhat eccentric professor whom none had met before. This was a class that was one that was shrouded in some secrecy; a condition he himself had placed on his very presence. And so, as the clock tick-tocked - a sound that soon filled the emptiness where noise and movement once existed - the professor finally looked up at the class. "Good morning class." A wave of seemingly obligatory 'good morning's' drifted down from all corners of the room. The entire mass seemed quite unsure of what was going to happen next. Undoubtedly, the rumors that often spread about the class had at least some of the students concerned as to what might be coming. That was when he smiled. "My name is Commander Stewart, and I am from the future." Having done this very speech many times before, he paused as the whispers moved through the room. When the wave of sound had dissipated, and the ticking of the clock returned, he continued. "I am also from the past." Another wave of whispers, albeit a much shorter run, moved through the room as he walked up to a chalkboard at the front of the class. It was an antiquated tool, but one that he had insisted on having for his lectures. Many of his colleagues whispered about how strange it was, but to his face no one ever questioned it. It was simply a part of his odd nature; at least that was what the rumors said. Picking up a piece of the quite antiquated and specially ordered chalk, the grey haired man with the slightly elongated face that made him look just alien enough to not be human wrote two words; 'Time is'. Beneath the words he drew a line. "What is time?" he said as he turned to face the class. The echoing ticking of the clock filled the silence that extended beyond his own words when not a single student stepped up to the answer. Smiling slightly, he walked a few steps towards the center of the platform before continuing. It appeared that this class would be one of the less interactive ones. "Come on," he said as he waved one hand towards himself as if to draw in a response. "Time is?" It took him pointing at one young female officer in the front row to get things started. He stared at her until she finally spoke, saying only one word. "Relative?" Nodding, the man smiled slightly as he spoke, "That's a good start. Time is relative. Time is also self-evident. We see it pass, we witness its effects on the body and the world around us, but what about the fundamental nature of time?" The question created a whole new realm of silence in the room. It was something he was used to, so he simply continued. "Time is two things; both finite and infinite," he said as he spoke with his voice, but also with his hands. "We have all the time in the world, but time is always running out. Have you ever witnessed the moment when time stood still? Perhaps you have, but if you have not, you surely have been involved in a moment when there simply wasn't enough time because it was too busy flying." He stopped pacing along the platform to look at the students, some of which seemed to be following along well enough, before moving on both in speech and in movement. "To you, right now, time may seem like an irreversible succession of events, but in reality it is a dimension of its own. To change the past means to change the future, yet the past has already been changed." Turning slightly, he pointed to the line on the board. "Is time a line?" He asked the question and gave it a moment before shaking his head and continuing, "No. Time exists and fills up every point in every area of space in every dimension." A few nods could be seen throughout the room, but he looked into the sea of students and was met with questioning eyes. While some instances of the class seemed to take quickly to the ideas of time, others, such as this one, took some real invocation of critical though. As such, he asked, "Can you change the past, the present, or the future?" Whirling around, he pointed at a young man in the front of the class who fumbled around with a stylus in his fingers for an extraordinarily long second before dropping it to the floor and staring blankly back at the professor. The clock on the desk tick-tocked. One might have assumed, in the silence in which it resonated, that more seconds were lost into the oblivion of transition where the present became the past, but no one was able to see its unmoving hands. A full minute of real time silence went by before the student finally came up with an answer. "No." At this, the professor smiled and looked at the clock on his way to the board to make his point. It was as if he could see the hands moving even though they were most definitely not. "Why?" The professor paused only a moment before jumping into a whole new speech, "Why is it that the past is not really something you can adjust or change or divert to a new direction? What is the one thing about time that makes it so impossible to change? It is not the forward marching of time, or the slow forward crawling of it when you are waiting for something exciting, is it? Can it be the visible slowdown of time as you approach faster than light speeds?" Silence once again settled on the room and the ticking clock echoed in the ears of all who were present. This time, however, it was different. This time, the ticking sounded as if the hands were caught between A and B; between one second and the next. But, as no one could see the clock other than the professor, not a single student questioned the progress of time. It took some descent into the silent nullity once again before anyone seemed to gather up enough nerve to speak up. Even when one of the older students did so, the answer came in the form of a question rather than a statement. "But it is possible to change." There was a short pause as the student collected the rest of her thoughts, "Hasn't it been done before by using the gravity of a star to speed up to where a ship could travel back through time?" A wry grin appeared on the face of the professor. Now, perhaps, they were getting somewhere. He pointed at the woman and shook his head before speaking. "That would assume that time falls in a line," he said as he walked back and forth on the platform ignoring the seemingly difficult struggle of the clock on his desk. "If it were a line, it would be easily traversed. However, is it not right to assume that everything that could happen, already has? In effect, does time itself not fill every inch of space in every dimension in existence allowing for infinite possibilities?" Time, he was trying to explain, was far from the line these students were used to seeing it as. There were so many people focused on maintaining and preserving the timeline. What these people didn't realize was that the choices had already been made for them in this timeline, or the next. One of the students picked up on that fact and spoke in an almost argumentative tone. "But that means we have no choices," she stated flatly. "It means what we might chose has already been chosen and we can only ride the flow of it all. I can't believe that." The professor with the elongated face raised his eyebrows. It wasn't often in his walks through the timelines that he invoked such a response. This one, a young Asian woman with long, raven hair, would one day lead; it was something he could feel resonate within his core. "Why not?" he asked simply without taking his eyes from hers. She wasted no time in speaking her response. "Because the universe does not control my destiny. We are shaped by the events of our lives, not by some predetermined ending." Silence once again fell around them as the professor held her gaze. There was a fire that burned in her eyes that he did not have the pleasure of seeing often. In other instances of the class, he'd found her decidedly less intense or even non-existent. But this timeline would gain quite the leader, it would seem. Yet none of this could be spoken. His job was to only to be the catalyst for critical thinking on a subject often muddled through and misunderstood. "You seem sure of your control. How can you know you're in control of anything?" he asked already knowing the answer yet seeking to prod the woman into a level of furious debate that he rarely got the chance to see. Once again, there was little hesitation in her response. "Because when I act, I face a definitive reaction." It was the first of many quick, yet educated responses. Over the course of the next hour, he sparred with the woman over time and destiny. She didn't believe in fate, yet he tried to point out the fact that all eventualities did, in fact, exist. The woman seemed intent on the idea that she could bend the rules that governed time, yet she did not walk outside of it like he did; a fact that no one would come to know except for the few that allowed him to teach. But her thought patterns and passion were a breath of fresh air, and by the time they had run the course of the class, he felt as if he had run a marathon. Leaving her with a final cryptic statement regarding the nature of time, the professor turned his attention to the clock on his desk. The hands were positioned in such a way that made him want to hurry despite not having moved at all. All the same, he knew that this timeline would soon be moving forward without him. "Time is evolution of the mind, the body, and the universe around us," he said matter-of-factly. "It is seen and felt, yet invisible and intangible. Paradox and simplified problem. Remember this always as you step out into the normal world." The final bit got the attention of a few, but nothing more was said as the students began reaching for their things and prepared to leave the class. The tick-tocking of the clock on his desk, which hands had not moved since his last check, got lost in the shuffle of people and bags and desks around the room. No one approached the desk this time, as they would not ever return to the room where the strange professor taught. This was a one shot deal for those who chose to take the class. Watching the students as they watched their own chronometers, biding their time until the moment came, the professor mentally dismissed this instance of these students. The moment came as he finished looking over them all and soon they filed out of the room. While a few looked back and bid him farewell, most were already caught up in the present without much thought for the past which had just occurred. To him, however, it was all the same; every class he taught reacted in nearly the same way. This time was different though. This time he had been able to invoke a response from one of the students. It was something that made him smile as he sat in the silence and began filing the report to the appropriate people regarding the students he had just seen. In the silence, the clock could be heard echoing slower and slower into the empty room. The professor pushed the send button just as the second hand got lost in between the moments and suddenly the clock simply stopped. It felt like he was holding his breath, caught between now and then, before and after, as the environment around him shifted ever so slightly. He was used to it by now, but the feeling of not being able to breathe always caught him slightly unaware. As things settled, and the ticking of the clock rang out once more into the slightly different empty room, he prepared himself to teach the class again. Different, yet it was the same; a grand experiment in portraying the same event in various locations in time. The same students, in different timelines, all reacting according to their own logical chain of events. So far, none of the students had broken the code, but there were still an infinite number of classes to go. Perhaps somewhere along the lines he would run into another fiery personality or overwhelming intelligence that the time-walker would find more than just intriguing. The seats in the auditorium style classroom filled slowly as the seemingly broken clock on his desk ticked the seconds away. He watched it, almost preoccupied with the forward movement of the hands as those seconds disappeared into the void of this timeline's nothingness. The occasional student approached the desk and placed a padd there, stopping for some kind of acknowledgement. Ultimately, they continued on to a seat when they got none. Soon, the seats were nearly full, yet his eyes did not stray from the clock. An uneasy silence settled on the room, with his students anticipating the beginning of the lecture. Each one of them looked down towards the small platform near the front of the room at the somewhat eccentric professor whom none had met before. This was a class that was one that was also shrouded in some secrecy; a condition he himself had placed on his very presence. And so, as the clock tick-tocked in a somewhat endless march - a sound that soon filled the emptiness where noise and movement once existed - the professor finally looked up at the class and began it all again. "Good morning class." -- Commander Kalianna Nicholotti Commanding Officer Starbase 118/USS Victory
  8. After some of my own digging, which led me to the same information you already have, I can only share what I know. To my knowledge, (and those who have been around longer please correct me if I'm wrong) there is nothing against posting sims with open tags, however, it seems to me that there are a couple of reasons why you don't see this done often. First, a sim with a chunk of open tags/dialogue simply is not as powerful or emotionally invoking as a sim that is complete from start to finish. Secondly, sims just look better and are more complete when there are no open tags in them. They are easier to read and just seem like higher level sims. That's not to say that sims with open tags don't get submitted; I think that some people take the time to fill in those open tags with the responses from other sims before a sim is submitted to the contest, which is why you hardly ever see open tags.
  9. Even today, religion is a hot topic. I live in the deep south and I can say that even the mention of things like 'Godzilla' are shunned (because it has the word God in it). I'd wager to say that despite wanting to portray total equality across the board, there were still some major limitations well past the original series and into TNG and beyond. I actually wrote up a Writer's Workshop article about this occurrence not too long ago. If anyone's interested, you can find it here: http://www.starbase118.net/blog/2012/03/29/reality-buried-deep-within-science-fiction/
  10. Which was a very good way of showing total respect and freedom of religion, as well as equality, without alienating the ideals of the viewers at the time. =)
  11. ((SB118 - Brek's Quarters)) ::Brek stood in front of his replicator, wondering what to have for breakfast. He had hoped that by putting his uniform on, he would feel `normal' again, but his appetite remained elusive. :: oO I ate so much last night... maybe I should stick to diet food today. What about the white thing that's supposed to be good for the microorganisms in the gut, but that looks like fresh guano? How do Human call it? Oo ::He ordered yogurt from the replicator and was sniffing suspiciously at it when there was not only a beep at the door, but also an insistent knock. The day was beginning in earnest, it seemed:: Brek: Come in. ::Dakarai appeared, in disarray and looking altogether different this morning. The black man examined the living area, which made Brek feel self conscious. These days it was looking more and more like a stockroom, although he preferred to think of it as a refined cabinet of curiosities, crammed with rare treasures.:: Brek: ::Delaying the moment where he would have to sample the yogurt.:: You are growing a beard, ensign? Dakarai: ::Touching his chin.:: Oh that, yes. My girlfriend likes it this way. When did you come back last night? ::When it became obvious that Brek wasn't going to answer, he went on: :: It has nothing to do with being intrusive Lt, it's just that Alice escaped during the night. The Acamarian Ambassador says someone must have opened her vivarium, allowing the spider to roam free. She is a rare breed apparently, black and red in colour. There will be trouble if something happens to her. Brek: ::Taking a spoonful of his `medicine' so as to look blasé.:: This spider... is it a dangerous species? Dakarai: Mildly. But I have been assured that we have all the antivenom we could need, if she ever bites. She has been described as being er... docile. ::His eyes darting everywhere.:: I take it you have not seen anything with eight legs recently? Brek: Nope. Four legs is the most I have encountered. Are these Acamarians insane? From this day, I don't want to see anymore dangerous creatures in the Embassies. This is a diplomatic building, not a zoo! Dakarai: Alice is a pet, it's different. She is, quoting the Ambassador, `cherished'. Brek: Nonsense! Do you think that if VIPs have a Nelephant for a pet they would be allowed to travel with it?! Dakarai: An Elephant. Brek: That's what I said. Dakarai: ::Suddenly motionless.:: Oh Mon Dieu! She is is here, over there, on your glassware! I hate araignées... er .... spiders! Anytime I see one, I want to step on it! Brek: ::Walking towards his display of fifth century Vulcan glasswork.:: It's not difficult to push your panic button, is it, Dakarai? How can someone as tall as you are, be afraid of such a small critter? Dakarai: ::With a shriek.:: Small? It's as big as my hand! ::He opened his right mitt for comparison.:: Brek: ::Now but a few centimeters away from the bug.:: Don't shout, you are going to scare it. ::He took a large tray on the shelf behind it, and trapped the spider under it. Due to the intricacies of the glass work, Alice looked even bigger now, or as Brek was thinking, more succulent.:: Brek: You had better tell the Acamarian Ambassador to fetch his pet right way. Spiders are a delicacy on Ferenginar. I don't know how long I'll be able to resist a snack. ::Dakarai looked at him with alarm and rushed away, apparently convinced that his chief would eat something that had a name. Amused by this concept, Brek sat down in front of Alice and finished his unsavory breakfast.:: ---------------------------------- Lt Brek Chief Diplomatic Officer SB118/USS Victory With Ensign J.B. Dakarai, Diplomatic Aide
  12. Glad you're having a blast. And just think - this is only the beginning! =)
  13. ((Personal Quarters)) ::Kaedyn Zehn looked at himself in the mirror with a concerned frown. In his newly replicated uniform, with its black turtle neck on which his new rank was pinned, he felt even less like the old Kaedyn he had been before Joining than ever. This, he knew, was healthy since he no longer was the old Kaedyn but it was still disconcerting. The logic of an intelligence service highlighting it's officers with a distinct uniform colour was lost on him but perhaps it was a way of Starfleet Intelligence demonstrating how mainstream it was in comparison with the shadowy, nefarious intelligence agencies throughout the galaxy.:: ::With Eliaan still asleep, he quietly slipped out of their quarters and into the turbolift for what would be his first day in his new job. While excited at the prospect, he felt a knot of nerves in his stomach as the lift ascended to it's destination.:: ((Black Tower)) ::Arriving at the entrance to the command tower, which the station's intelligence department called home, Kaedyn took a deep breath. The Black Tower had gained a level of notoriety in the past, much of it based around events that he had not been authorised to know about and may never have actually happened for all he knew. Jilenna had spent some time there but as a marine counter-intel officer she was usually based with the other marines on the other side of the station.:: Computer: Access to this area is restricted. Authorisation required. Zehn: Authorisation Zehn Lamda-Three-Two-Black Computer: Authorisation accepted. ::The doors opened and despite the mental picture of secretive bunker that Kaedyn had always had of the area, it was just another Starfleet corridor and exactly as Jilenna had remembered it. In a large, deliberate step that seemed to mirror the metaphorical step in his life, he entered the Black Tower and the doors slid quietly closed behind him.:: ::Ahead of him, a young man dressed in the black uniform of intelligence and with a single pip denoting his rank, stood waiting. Was he waiting for him?:: Ensign: Lieutenant Zehn ::He said it so it wasn't clear whether it was a question or a statement and for a moment, Kaedyn didn't know quite how to respond. When he did, he carefully so that the response could be interpreted either as a confirmation, if it were a question and a question if it were a statement.:: Zehn: Yes Ensign: Commander Cornwell wishes to speak to you. ::The name sounded familiar but then after seven lifetimes of memories, a lot of names sounded familiar. He was due to be briefed on current intelligence status but surely Starfleet wouldn't send a Commander to brief a Lieutenant.:: Zehn: Sorry, who? Ensign: Commander Valerie Cornwell ::And from the depths of Zehn's memories, he immediately knew who she was...:: ~~Flashback: 2369~~ ((USS Indomitable)) ::Lieutenant Commander Reigan Zehn sat behind his desk, straight-backed and commanding, as the young Ensign entered his office. She looked, he noticed immediately, terrified in the way that all new ensigns looked on their first day of duty. Another chief might try to make her feel more at ease or pretend to be her friend but he had other ideas. Now, he believed, was the best opportunity to take a promising officer and mold her into his image of a good security officer.:: Zehn (Reigan): Ensign Valerie Cornwell service number four three two dash five five six dash seven one three. Class of 69. Graduated with honours, a major in Security and a minor in Operations. ::Standing at attention, she looked vaguely unsure as to whether to respond.:: Cornwell: Sir, that's me. Sir. Zehn (Reigan): You didn't want to minor in Tactical? Most of the ensigns who major in security minor in tactical, and vice versa. Cornwell: No, Sir. I did not. Zehn (Reigan): Why not? Please, you may speak freely. ::She remained at attention.:: Cornwell: I am not interested in combat, sir. Most tactical officers are glory hunters, in my experience, Sir. I felt operations would give me a better understanding of Starships, which would help my role as a security officer. ::A small smile crossed the Trill's face, a rare occurrence when he was on duty.:: Zehn (Reigan): Very good, Ensign. I am a Security/Operations graduate myself, for the very same reason. ::He indicated that she may sit down across from him and she did so, although she remained rigidly upright.:: Zehn (Reigan): I have reviewed your Academy record, Ensign Cornwell and I was sufficiently impressed to request you for my department. Cornwell: Thank you, Commander. I appreciate that. Zehn (Reigan): You have done well learning the theory of being a security officer. I will now teach you the practice. ~~End Flashback~~ ((Black Tower)) Zehn: Commander Cornwell ::As he stepped into the temporary office, which indicated that Valerie Cornwell was not permanently assigned to the Starbase, he spotted the woman he had known so well two lifetimes before. Her hair was longer now and greying, where it had once been almost black, but the face was more or less the same. She smiled and waved him in.:: Cornwell: Come in, Kaedyn. It's great to meet you, well not exactly meet you but you know what I mean. Zehn: I do, Commander. It's been... a long time. ::They had last met, or rather Reigan and Cornwell had last met, not too long before his death at the Second Battle of Chin'toka during the Dominion War. She had written to Jilenna several times but they had never actually met. Somehow, despite the fact that Zehn had experienced the death of two hosts, Cornwell looked as thought she had suffered through a more difficult time. She seemed weary and tired.:: Cornwell: I was sorry to hear about Jilenna Zehn: Yeah, it was a tragic accident... Cornwell: But, now, here you are. I must say, your new host is very attractive, if I were only twenty years younger... ::It was common, Kaedyn knew, for non-Trill to speak in such terms. It was almost as if they believed, given the nature of Joined Trill, that the host was little more than a shell, an outfit that could be changed.:: Zehn: You have barely changed since the day we first met, Commander. ::She eyed him with good humoured suspicion.:: Cornwell: Nonsense. I keep getting older and you keep getting younger... Boss. ~~Flashback: 2369~~ ((USS Indomitable)) ::Reigan Zehn stood outside his office. He masked his impatience well behind a facade of stoicism but as the young Ensign approached it spilled out.:: Zehn (Reigan): You are late Cornwell: Sir? Zehn: You were to report to me at oh five hundred hours Cornwell: And here I am. ::He frowned.:: Zehn: Computer, time Computer: The time is oh five hundred hours and two minutes Cornwell: Two minutes? That's not really late Zehn (Reigan): And what, may I ask, is the threshold for being "really" late? five minutes? ten minutes? fifteen minutes? How long does it take for an explosive device to go off or for someone to beam away from a crime scene? Timing is essential in the life of a security officer. Cornwell: I understand, Boss. It won't happen again. ::He knew he was being tough on her but he knew she could handle it. He was always tough on new recruits, they picked things up quicker if he wouldn't let them away with anything. He was particularly hard on Valerie because he knew she could be really good but also because he could tell she was developing a crush on him.:: ::The last Zehn host, Tomen, had been a star athlete and an attractive man. Tomen had been used to that sort of attention, Janel thrived on it and Zhima had mourned the loss of the political power that had made him attractive to woman. For Reigan, that sort of attention was unexpected and unwelcome.:: ::They began his morning ritual of patrolling the large Nebula-class starship. He liked the crew, and the civilians onboard, to see him around and to be a visible presence on the ship. It was a habit he was hoping to instil in the young Ensign Cornwell. He had a set route that he always took and usually Zehn (Reigan): Did you hear about the wormhole? The first stable wormhole to the Gamma quadrant Cornwell: Yes, it's exciting ::The Trill man's face remained stoic, obviously annoyed at her inability to think like a security officer.:: Zehn (Reigan): No it isn't. We have no idea who or what is on the other side of that wormhole and what sort of danger they pose to us. Cornwell: I suppose. Zehn (Reigan): I know that when arresting a Klingon I need to take backup; or when questioning a Betazoid be aware that they can read my mind or that an Orion woman has pheromones that make men go mad and to send female officers. I don't have that knowledge about these new races we might encounter and that make me nervous. Cornwell: Of course but it isn't the point of Starfleet to explore the galaxy? Zehn (Reigan): It is but I don't like uncertainty and neither should any good security officer. Danger lurks around every corner, never forget that. ~~End Flashback~~ ((Black Tower)) Cornwell: I'm not sure how well you've been briefed. I spoke to Savannah and she asked if I could speak to you about this... ::Kaedyn adjusted position in his chair. Surely, she knew he hadn't even had time to visit his office. She had sent someone to collect him from the lobby of the tower.:: Zehn: I haven't been briefed at all, yet. Cornwell: How familiar are you with the Thracian Alliance situation? ::Open-ended questions. Was she using Reigan's interrogation techniques against him? Such a question led the person being asked into a situation where they couldn't quite be sure what was being asked. In that circumstance, people often gave away more than they planned as an attempt to find the answer to whatever the real question was.:: Zehn: I'd imagine I know as much as anyone of my previous rank and position on this station knows. ::She smiled at his equivocation.:: Cornwell: After a few years in Investigation, I have found myself in the deep end of intelligence. When the Thracian Alliance was established, I was sent here to establish links with them. That assignment has ended and I am being pulled out. When Savannah informed me that you were taking over the Intel brief here, I was glad that someone I could trust would be involved. Zehn: I'm not here to create intelligence networks. Cornwell: Of course not. Zehn: Then what? ::She leaned forward, placing her arms on her desk and interlocking her fingers.:: Cornwell: I'll be frank with you, Kaedyn. Thracia is a mess and it is my belief that it poses a risk to the Federation. The whole place is riddled with agents and double agents and probably triple agents... Zehn: I had gathered as much. Cornwell: Why? Zehn: There are two groups of Romulans on opposite sides of the Thracian border and there's that old saying: when two Romulans are in a room, they are likely both spying on each other. Factor in the proximity of the Klingons who are better at intelligence that they may pretend to be; the fact that some of those who found themselves in Thracian space will have loyalty to their previous governments and the number of alien traders and diplomats that have made a bee-line for the Alliance. I'd be surprised if ::She smiled, confident that the investigative capability of Reigan was present in this recently promoted young officer. For his part, Kaedyn was a little surprised at how he was speaking.:: Cornwell: I am concerned that as a result, the Thracians will develop a Tal'Shiar style intelligence agency. If they do, it will be up to you to keep in contact with the fledgling networks that I have established and ensure that such spies don't wind up on SB118. ::He frowned.:: Zehn: Commander, I have been on this job for less than a day. Surely, someone with more experience would be better suited... Cornwell: If anyone can do this, it would be Reigan Zehn Zehn: ::frowning:: I'm not Reigan Zehn Cornwell: You are the nearest I have to him and with Jilenna's counter-intel experience you are probably even better suited for it. ::He cleared his throat.:: Zehn: Commander, my position is within the Starbase chain of command... Cornwell: That was not my decision, believe me. Zehn: Regardless of whose decision it is, I get my orders from my commanding officer. I won't subvert the chain of command. Has this been cleared with Commander Nicholotti? ::A shadow briefly crossed her face and Kaedyn, acutely aware that this woman who had been his subordinate was now his superior by quite a bit, worried that he had stepped over the line. However, almost as quickly as it had appeared her expression softened again.:: Cornwell: Commander Nicholotti is your CO and I respect that. I also trust Nicholotti, which I can't say about a lot of people any more. This is simply a counter-intelligence assignment, which would be within your area of responsibility and Commander Nicholotti will certainly be kept in the loop. Zehn: Okay... Cornwell: It has been felt that since Kaedyn has no background in intelligence, you won't have shown up on anyone else's radar. In short, you won't be seen as much of a threat to the Thracians, Klingons or Romulans. Zehn: Do you have any proof that the Thracians are planning anything like the organisation you are describing? Cornwell: There are. I just know there are. ~~Flashback: 2369~~ ((USS Indomitable)) ::The morning patrol of the ship had become an excellent opportunity for the Security Chief and his apprentice to discuss any questions she had and for him to impart his wisdom. He had even managed to accept the crush that she had on him, which did not appear to be going away anytime soon.:: Cornwell: Okay, what would you do if you know someone is guilty but we can't prove it. ::Nodding to a passing officer as they walked, he considered the question. It was one of the most difficult aspects of security work.:: Zehn (Reigan): We investigate using our gut instincts but that can only get us so far. Proof. Evidence. Facts. These are what we must strive for at all times Cornwell: And what do we do if we can't find any proof? Zehn (Reigan): Look harder. Turn over more stones. Go back and turn over the ones you'll already looked under. Speak to your witnesses again. Cornwell: And then what? ::The Trill stopped and turned to face the young ensign.:: Zehn (Reigan): Then you may have to accept as justice is not served. ::She looked incredulous at the very notion of it, as if Cornwell: You'd just give up? Zehn (Reigan): Give up? Never. That's the key, we may have to watch as a criminal gets away or a crime goes unsolved but we never give up. We never give up. ~~End Flashback~~ ((Black Tower)) Zehn: I will look over any information that you have and discuss this with the Commander. ::For the first time in their conversation, she visible bristled and regarded him as the subordinate that he was rather than the mentor he had been.:: Cornwell: I am not a new ensign, Lieutenant. I do not need you to check my work. ::He said nothing for a long time. She had been used to Reigan Zehn who, given the chance to lead an investigation like this, would have jumped at the chance. She had not reckoned with the stubbornness of this new host.:: Zehn: Then until I am ordered otherwise, I cannot help you. ::Opening her mouth to respond, she closed it again and leaned back in her chair. After staring at him for a long time in silence, she lifted a PADD and tossed it across the desk at him.:: Cornwell: That doesn't leave the Tower. You have until tomorrow to get back to me. Speak to Nicholotti if you wish. Zehn: Thank you. Cornwell: Dismissed, Lieutenant. TBC Lieutenant Kaedyn Zehn Intelligence Officer SB118 / USS Victory
  14. I think a big reason for that is due to the time in which this was written. It was a pretty big task to try to incorporate the idea of true religious freedom without alienating the viewers and fans in these times who still held to traditions that we see fading today. The idea of women on the bridge, multi-national crews, and a society where all were equal was a big enough chunk to bite off without attempting to take on religion. So, I see the writers simply throwing out religious implications related to humans and making their statement of equality by saying alien religious beliefs should be respected and followed.
  15. (( First Officer's Office - USS Apollo)) :: Liam had lost track of how much time he had spent in his office, though his chronometer had kept perfect time and indicated that it had been about forty-five minutes. He looked at the monitor in front of him, taking stock of how far he had gotten with the message he had prepared for the family of Daniel Brandon.:: :: Nowhere.:: :: There were, at times, words on the screen in front of him, but none of them seemed appropriate, and none of them seemed to stay there for long. Of course, there would be a note made in the Apollo's official logs, and Starfleet would likely forward that information once it was processed. But it seemed so impersonal. If anything happened to him in the line of duty, Liam had always felt it would be better for his family to find out personally, from someone like the Captain, or even Sidney.:: :: But the Solstice had been missing for nearly twenty years, and her crew presumed lost along with her. It was possible that Commander Brandon's family had moved on since then and made peace with their loss. If that was the case, would contacting them about it simply be opening old woulds that had been healing for more than half of Liam's life. there was the chance that saying something, anything, to them might just make things worse for the family.:: :: He spent long moments pondering it, what he should do. He considered asking someone, Jaxx or even Cayden, how to act. But he couldn't bring himself to put it on either of them. They carried the same burden, or the memories of it, and to put that weight on them seemed more than just unfair.:: :: He took a deep breath, and a long sip of coffee before entering a few commands into his terminal. He waited for a few moments while the subspace relays of the Apollo connected to the ones that he had requested. After a few seconds, the Stafleet logo was replaced by the face of a woman a few years older than Liam. He could tell she was the woman she was looking for, she bore an unmistakable resemblance to the man who's Starfleet record he'd been looking at a few minutes ago.:: Woman: Hello. :: Liam did his best to keep his voice neutral.:: Frost: Lydia Brandon? Brandon: Yes. And you are? :: He could tell she was at least mildly confused. She was a civilian. And to be contacted directly by a Starfleet officer was at least the slightest bit strange.:: Frost: I'm Lieutenant Commander Liam Frost, of the USS Apollo. Brandon: How can I help you, Commander? :: He allowed himself as long a pause as he felt he could without creating any unnecessary tension. He needed to choose his words carefully, but he had to do so quickly.:: Frost: I have some information that I though you would want to here. :: He paused a moment longer.:: Frost: We recovered some wreckage this morning, as well as the body of a Starfleet officer. :: He could see her expression begin to change slightly, as though she were steeling herself for the information that she was about to receive. That she had always know that she might receive.:: Frost: We found your father. :: There was nothing for several long moments except silence while Lydia Brandon finally absorbed the fact that she had suspected would come for so long. There were no tears, no visceral reactions, no anger. Just a solemn acceptance of what she had suspected for so long.:: Brandon: I see. Frost: I'm sorry that you had to find out this way. After so long. Brandon: I think a part of my always knew this day was going to come. The Solstice was declared lost when I was a kid. :: This time it was her time to spend a few moments choosing her words.:: Brandon: Can I ask you something, Commander? Frost: Of course. Brandon: My father... do you know how he die? :: It was the most loaded questions he had ever faced. The answer raised questions about the nature of life and death that human philosophers had grappled with for centuries. from a strictly biological stance, Daniel Brandon had been alive right up until the moment Liam had shot him. But was he still Daniel Brandon at the time? Some might argue that Daniel Brandon died twenty years ago, the day he was assimilated. He ceased to be an individual, and became a drone. He followed the will of the collective, and was no more a person than a character on the holodeck. In the end, it didn't matter what the answer was, he couldn't bring himself to place that burden upon her. He looked the as straight in the eye as the connection would allow him to, and told her exactly how her father had met his end.:: Frost: Bravely. :: She stared at him for another long moment before nodding slowly. She knew there was more to the story than he was telling her, she had to. There would be time for her to read the official reports, to find out what had happened. But for now, It was enough for her to know that her father had died the way he lived, bravely in the face of danger and the unknown. And perhaps, with that information, she would be able to better handle that report. Or perhaps, he could only hope, that would be enough. For a moment, the faintest smile appeared on her features, as if a small portion of the weight she had carried with her was lifted. Brandon: I see. I never knew quite how I would feel when I found out what happened. It's nice to have some closure. Frost: If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to contact me. Brandon: I won't. And, Commander. Thank you. Frost: You're welcome. :: He reached forward and closed the connection before leaning back in his desk chair. He let his head fall back slightly and closed his eyes as a small wave of relief washed over him. It wasn't a pleasant duty to perform, but one that was necessary. In spite of himself, he was slightly relieved that he had never known Lieutenant Commander Brandon. It gave him a small degree of separation from the situation that he wouldn't have had otherwise.:: :: After a few seconds, he stood, taking a one last sip of his increasingly cold coffee before replacing the mug into the replicator to be reclaimed. He had, once again, emerged from the situation with his humanity intact, and that was something to be grateful for. He moved towards the door, straightening his uniform jacket and letting a long breath out before he stepped back out onto the bridge and into reality.:: LtCmdr Liam Frost First Officer USS Apollo
  16. ::There was a cakey kind of taste in the air as her friends mingled around her; green swirls of light in her blackened world. Nessa was giggling as Levi slipped on some spilt beer and sprawled on the floor. The green swirl flashed with red, then blue and back to green as he picked himself up, brushed himself off, and went to the bar to collect another drink. Nights like this were rare, and they were getting rarer as the group got older. Nobody muchly cares what a group of kids get up to in the big city during the night, but as you approach adulthood certain things are expected of you, it seemed. Even kids like them. The lost, abandoned, broken children of the world. "The bigger you get, the more useful you become so the more people notice you" is how Arlie had put it. She hadn't seen Arlie for months now. People must've noticed him for something. Nessa hoped it was something good - she'd liked him. He'd been the one that had saved her all those years ago, and also the one that had introduced her to the little pills that made everything so colourful. That was an accident on his part, but she was nonetheless grateful for it. It was always so dull and boring without them.:: ::She often wondered why she was the only girl around on nights like this. Sometimes, when they went to the nightclubs or holomovies, there'd be other girls around. But they were never with her group. They were just... there. They all seemed very pretty; maybe that was it. Maybe they were too pretty to be hanging around with the likes of her, with her man-face and short hair. Arlie said she looked pretty, but he was the only one. He was probably just being nice. Besides, the hair was his fault in a way - though she couldn't rightly blame him for the face.:: ((Flashback - 6 Years Previously)) Arlie: 'ere, Euan. Be a good boy and look after this one, will ya? ::The big burly one they called Arlie presented Nessa to the kid as if she was a present. Perhaps she was. She certainly felt delivered, from somewhere very dark and scary that she didn't much care for to... here, wherever this was. Some half-empty warehouse in the middle of a stinking shipyard. There were bits of shuttlecraft everywhere, and some bigger pieces that Nessa had never seen before. None of it worked, though. That would've been too easy. She could climb in and fly away into the sky, leaving smelly London and all her troubles behind. Of course, she'd quickly be apprehended by Starfleet, or even more likely die in a massive fireball, but she was never one for foresight.:: ::Arlie couldn't have been older than eighteen years, but little Euan made him seem fatherly by comparison. The Welsh accent really didn't give the boy chance to even pretend to be older, either. In truth he was twelve, only a year older than Necessity. Though he tried to stretch that year out as far as it would go. It was hard to believe she would become friends, of a sort, with Euan and his ever-cheerful sing-song voice.:: Euan: Alright there, is it? What's your name then little'un? James: ::Stroppily:: Necessity. And I'm not little! Euan: ::Thoughtfully:: That's a weird one, never 'eard that name before... you one o' them aliens or summut? Lots o' weird names they have like, Arlie tells me stories about 'em. ::A grin of triumph crept across Necessity's lips.:: James: Arlie *gave* it to me. I didn't 'ave one before. Or if I did I dunno know what it was, nobody never used it. ::She beamed:: Said I'm special and res... resor- ::The strange word gave her pause, so - true to it's meaning - she found a way around it.:: summink what means I find ways of doin' fings. Even when they's too 'ard. I get's 'em done. Euan:: Resourceful, is it? Well, gotta be that out 'ere I suppose. James: Arlie says necesserty's the muvver of invention. Says I'm gonna be an inventor. Euan: ::Under his breath:: 'spect she'll be the mother o' more'n that 'fore long. ::He s[...]ed, then spoke louder, to Nessa:: That 'air o' yours. Breedin' rats in it, are we? ::As much as Nessa scrunched her face up in offence and annoyance, she couldn't actually remember the last time she'd washed her hair. Or any of her, for that matter. Instead she resorted to the age-old defence of crossing her arms and stamping her foot.:: James: You're mean! ::A scathing riposte, sure to win any argument.:: Euan: Sorry precious, only commentin' like. Looks a bit of a mess, that's all. 'course, I could fix that for you, y'know. ::She had been so eager for the remedy. Looking back, there were several points along the way where a more suspicious girl - the cynic that she would later become, for instance - would have noticed what was happening. But for eleven-year-old Necessity James it wasn't until her fringe fell to the floor in front of her eyes that she noticed. She'd screamed then. Screamed so loud that Arlie had come rushing up the stairs and stormed into the room.:: Arlie: Euan! What in 'ells name, boy?! Euan: Quicker than washin' it, isn't it? Lovely now it is... ::Nessa's eyes had narrowed in rage at the smile Arlie couldn't quite conceal. Looking back, it must've been pretty funny for everyone except the victim. Worse still was that Arlie actually restrained her, so that Euan could finish the butchery! Hours later when she was put to bed that night, Arlie came to her with a mirror.:: Arlie: I know you're angry, Ness. But in time you'll realise that actually, young Euan might've saved you a lot of trouble with that 'aircut. ::The restraining made sense almost immediately, when she realised how she must've looked with only half her hair cut off. The actual cutting didn't make sense to her until much later, but he was right. That was the defining thing about Arlie; sooner or later, he was always right.:: ((End Flashback)) ::Nessa smiled as she read the message on her PADD the next morning. There was to be a 'meet and greet' in the Holodeck on the Victory tonight. A chance to get to know everyone. She recalled bitterly the last time she'd "gotten to know everyone", It was shortly before the entire bleedin' lot of them were shipped off to the USS Apollo along with the Captain she'd met for the most brief of moments, and left her on the station with another bunch of strangers. Except for a Caitian named- no, she wasn't even going to try that one from memory. What had happened to her, anyway?:: oO They'd better not take Luna away... Oo ::Puling herself out of her bed, she had a little giggle at the mess that greeted her in the mirror. Nessa pulled on some cargo pants and a vest top, and stumbled over to the replicator.:: oO This one's for you, Euan. Ya little taffy git. Oo James: One pair of hairdressing scissors, left handed. Computer: ::Playing a discordant error tone:: Access denied. James: ::Incredulously:: I'm denied... a pair of scissors? Computer: Access to sharp implements and cutting blades restricted in these quarters. ::Necessity stood, staring at the replicator in awe.:: James: Oi, I ain't bein' told what I can and can't 'ave by a metal box. What am I, six? Computer: Restriction implemented by Starfleet Counsellor Lisa Hyatt, 238901.18. ::The date Nessa graduated from Starfleet Academy. She'd forgotten about the Hyatt woman, and her objections to Nessa even entering training, let alone graduating it. Nessa had expressed quite plainly that she was not "a mental case", that a Starfleet Cousellor should not be using such a term even if she was, and finally had given quite a detailed description of where she thought Dr. Hyatt could store her psycho analysis report. Nevertheless, it seemed Lisa had gotten the last laugh. Well, Nessa would just have to consult Lieutenant Valyn about that, wouldn't she...:: Walker: =/\= Commander Walker to Lt. Valyn and Lt. James. =/\= James: ::Trying not to sound annoyed:: =/\= James 'ere, sir. =/\= Walker: =/\= I need your assistance in setting up the meet and greet tonight, I'd like to get your opinions and determine what supplies we can utilize. =/\= James: ::With a mischievous grin:: =/\= Not sure the kinda parties I'm used to 'aving are what you've got in mind... oO nor the type of supplies, for that matter Oo. But I'll give it a go, sir. Fancy discussin' it in person? Feels like I ain't eaten for six weeks. =/\= Walker: =/\= [Response?] =/\= James: =/\= Sounds like a plan, sir. I'll meet you there in, what, an hour? =/\= Walker: =/\= [Response?] =/\= James: =/\= Five-by-five, sir. See ya then. =/\= ------------------------------------------------ Lieutenant (JG) Necessity James H/C/O USS Victory/SB118
  17. Training classes usually start each Monday, so that's when you should expect to hear something on that front. In the meantime, feel free to dive in any of the conversations here, ask any questions you might have, and feel free to explore the cadet resources around the main site. And welcome! =)
  18. Welcome! You're in good company. I know a few aviation enthusiasts in the Fleet, myself being one. I don't fly, but I spend plenty of time oogling over pretty much anything with wings. ^.^
  19. Good luck out there (in the real world!) ...we'll miss you!

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.